Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Walking Dead.
Standing at the Edge of You and Me
Chapter 1
In many ways, it was your typical girl meets boy story. In many ways it wasn't. Any way you sliced it, Carol Morgan was meant to meet Daryl Dixon. In many ways, they were destined to meet before they were even born.
Carol's father, David, was a business man and a wealthy one. He was a good man, a good husband, but as soon as he put that suit and tie on, he was a shark, and he'd made a killing, which was why he'd become the head of the pharmaceutical company that had forced him to move himself and his new bride from Los Angeles to Atlanta.
By the time Carol came along, her parents were pushing forty. By the time she was in junior high, they were in their fifties, and by the time she met Daryl Dixon, they were suspicious of anybody that came snooping around their girl, because the only thing they could assume was he was after the money.
Daryl Dixon came from nothing. Well, not nothing, because, everybody has a past. But he was born to an abusive drunk father and a meth addict mother. By the time he was ten, he and his older brother, Merle, were placed in foster care for the abuse they endured at the hands of their tyrant father. Their mother was in prison for making and selling meth, and their father was long gone, probably shacked up with some bleach blond pair of tits.
Daryl was fifteen when he got shoved hard against his locker for the last time by that prick Phillip Blake, the banker's son who had his own fucking yacht but wasn't even old enough to drive a goddamned car. It had been the third time Blake had shoved him, calling him dirt and saying he couldn't even afford to breathe the same air. It had been a seriously fucked up week at his new foster home, and he hadn't seen his older brother in a month. Merle was old enough to be out on his own, and he knew his brother was into some bad shit, but there was no telling what it was, and Merle wouldn't come around.
Well, when Phillip Blake had laid into him, Daryl had turned right back around and punched him square in the nose. And then in the jaw. And then he'd pushed him to the ground and started punching him mercilessly. And, of course, Mrs. Crenshaw, the girls' P.E. teacher had seen and promptly separated the boys, sending Phillip to the nurse for cleaning up and Daryl to the principal's office for the beating.
That was the day that Carol Morgan was sitting outside of the principal's office while her parents were inside. She was a transfer student, coming from a school on the East side of Atlanta, a school her parents hadn't deemed worthy enough of educating their daughter.
When Daryl came around the corner, all tense with anger and frustration, his shaggy hair messed and down in his eyes, Carol felt her heart skip a beat. She bit her lip and scooted over on the bench, and he looked at her like she was crazy.
"You can sit."
"Know that," he muttered, plopping down on the bench next to her. "Who are you?"
"I'm Carol."
"Never seen you before. New, right?"
"Yeah," she said with an anxious nod. "My parents are just inside."
"Well, make sure you thank your parents for putting you in this piece of shit school. Welcome to hell, Carol." Carol watched as his shoulders shook as he fought for breath.
"You get in a fight or something?" she asked, reaching over to brush her fingertips against his bruised cheek. He flinched away from the touch and scooted away on the bench. It was at that moment that the principal's door opened, and her parents came filing out.
"Everything's set, Carol Ann," her mother, Vera said with a warm smile, giving her daughter a warm hug, while Daryl promptly gawked at the scene as if he was watching a foreign film and couldn't understand the words. "They want you in the guidance office to give you your class schedule. I have to get your father to the airport. Will you be alright?"
"I'm fine, Mom," Carol assured her with a nervous smile. She glanced in Daryl's direction, and Vera looked over at the rough-looking boy with a torn shirt and a bruised cheek, and she visibly tensed before turning back to her daughter.
"Make sure you sit with some nice girls at lunch. You should make friends here. It's important."
"I'll be fine, Mom. I promise," Carol said, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment, as her mother gave her another kiss, this time to the forehead.
"Vera, we'll be late," David announced, checking his watch. "You'll be alright to get on the bus after school?"
"I'm fifteen," Carol pointed out. "I'll be fine. If not, I'm sure I can find some burly quarterback to walk me home."
"Not funny, Carol Ann," Vera scolded, before she broke out in a smile and shook her head. "I'll see you this evening, sweetheart." Carol gave her parents a half-hearted wave before she sat back down on the bench. Daryl was staring at her, and when he realized she'd caught him staring, he looked away. "Parents."
"Yeah," he snorted, despite the fact he had no idea what it was like to have parents who gave a shit. He'd had six sets of foster parents over the last five years, and it was enough to make him doubt the entire foster system. He was a fuck-up, and he knew it, but the fosters were worse. Some of them had too many kids to keep track of, and he'd been lucky if he even had a bed to sleep in at the end of the night.
Now, he was being fostered by the Grimes', and they were pretty decent, and he got along ok with their boy, Rick, but he knew it wasn't permanent. Nothing ever was.
The principal's door opened, and Mr. Bixler came walking out, and as soon as he saw Daryl, his eyes rolled up, and he put his hand to his chest, feigning chest pain.
"Why, Mr. Dixon! What an absolute shock to see you sitting here this morning, as you do almost every morning." Daryl ducked his head, scowling, and without even looking at Carol, he got up and made his way past Bixler and into the office. Before Mr. Bixler came walking in, Daryl heard him whisper to Carol Ann Morgan. "Miss, it would serve you best to not hang around with the likes of Dixon. You seem like a good girl. Ought to stay that way."
For the next three years, Carol and Daryl were inseparable. He'd pushed her away at first, not even knowing what it was to have a friend. But slowly, he'd let her into his life, and despite her parents' warnings that she was going to end up in trouble, Carol couldn't stay away. Daryl had truly been the best friend she'd ever had. And slowly, over the course of those three years, they'd fallen in love.
He was her first. That balmy Summer night in the back of his pickup, they were seventeen, and they were scared shitless, but they'd held each other, and they'd soothed each other through pain and awkward fumbling, and in the end, it had been as perfect as it could be, and Carol was certain, as he held her close and stroked her hair when it was over, that they would spend the rest of their lives together.
...
"Piece of shit," Daryl muttered, as the TV went on the blink again. He slammed his hand on the top of the set, adjusted the rabbit ears, and finally said to hell with it and turned it off. Thunder rumbled low in the distance, and he peeked out the window to see flashes of lightning masked by clouds. It was miles away yet, but it was coming, and he suddenly had feeling of nostalgia, remembering sleepless nights sitting in the back of his truck, lying there, looking up at the menacing clouds with her hand in his as the rain began to pour over them. He remembered laughing and her laughing with him, the sound cutting through his soul, warming him like nothing else. He remembered the way she'd curl up against him, the way their hair would plaster to their faces, and her hand would tuck inside of his shirt for warmth. He remembered the way her hair smelled like lavender, and her mouth tasted like cinnamon.
He pushed his way out onto the screened in back porch and had a seat, popping open a beer as he looked out over the hills, watching as the storm rolled in. The fireflies were all but gone, going back to wherever the hell it was they went when the rain came.
He heard a car door slam, and he checked his watch. It was late. Probably Rick coming over for a couple of beers, he figured. He made his way through the house and to the front door, expecting Rick's usual three rapid-fire knocks. But nothing came. He peeked out the window in time to see a yellow taxi cab turning off at the end of the street, and then he heard the screen door squeal on its hinges. Still, no knock. He waited. And then, there it was. Her shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits knock. He knew that knock anywhere.
He gritted his teeth, thinking hard and fast for a moment, debating on whether or not to leave her out there in the impending storm, thinking he'd be better off if he just ignored her, just let her wonder. How'd she know he'd still be living here? Of course she knew. Where else would be he? Same place he got after high school. Same job he had after high school, because, of course he didn't go to college. He was Daryl Dixon. He was nothing, and he'd known that from birth. He'd never go anywhere. He'd known that from birth, too. So why the hell should he open that goddamned door and give her the satisfaction of knowing she'd made the better choice? She'd made the right choice, because anything was better than being stuck with someone like him.
He bit back the anger he felt. It wasn't anger at her. It was anger at himself. It was him. He only had himself to blame. He hadn't given her a choice, and he knew it. He'd pushed her away, pushed her at Mr. Perfect when graduation came, and college applications came, and Carol had been accepted at a number of very prestigious universities, and Daryl had earned himself a job at Micky's Garage as a mechanic making decent money, but not Ivy League money. Not money like Mr. Perfect.
It had been him. He'd broken her heart, and she'd believed him when he'd told her he couldn't be with her anymore. She'd believed him when he'd told her that all he wanted was a little peace and fucking quiet, and he couldn't think with her around. He'd broken her in a way that no man ever could, and he hated himself for it.
"Daryl, I know you're there. Please, open the door." Oh, it was her, alright. Her voice was a little different. Five years would change a person. He imagined her standing there in her nice clothes with a big rock on her finger. He imagined her curly, auburn hair blowing in the summer winds. He imagined her standing in front of him, looking at him with a look of relief that told him that marrying Mr. Perfect was the best thing she'd ever done.
Thunder shook the house this time, and a bolt of lightning illuminated the house as the power went out. He could hear the winding down whirr of the refrigerator as an empty silence filled the house.
"Daryl, please!" she urged from outside. "Please, open the door." He could hear her voice hitch, and he couldn't resist her. He never could resist her. Despite everything he'd said to her, everything he'd beaten himself up for, she was still the best friend he'd ever have. Even if he'd pushed her away, he couldn't turn her away. Not this time.
He unlocked the door and opened it wide, and for a moment, he thought it wasn't even her at all. For a moment, she was a stranger with short hair, a shadow of the girl he fell in love with, a little slip of a thing with bruises on her arms and a cut on her lip, and a baby sleeping soundly against her chest. But those eyes. Those unmistakable, fall into the ocean and drown in happiness eyes were hers and hers alone.
She trembled. Or was she simply bouncing the baby? He couldn't tell. But she looked like she was about to fall over, and he noticed the way her knees shook as she stood there in a slip of a sundress. Shivering.
He didn't say a word. Couldn't. He stared at her, much like he had the day they'd first met outside of Mr. Bixler's office. Only, now, she was the one fighting for breath. She was the one who looked broken. She was the one that needed that soft touch, that gentle sweep of fingertips against her cheek.
"I made a mistake," she choked out, as tears slipped from her eyes. "I didn't know where else to go." And then she was sobbing, and he was reaching for the baby, and she was falling against him, crumpling against him, inside of herself, and he pulled her close, and they sat there on the threshold of the door, and the baby cried, and she cried, and he thanked God for bringing this angel back into his life.
